


The Love Song of C Michael Murray

by girl_wonder



Category: CW RPS
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-28
Updated: 2011-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-19 20:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl_wonder/pseuds/girl_wonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns out this <i>is</i> how Chad deals with his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Love Song of C Michael Murray

The love song of C Michael Murray

Chad woke up in his ex-wife's bed with the type of hangover that made him nauseous enough to think about not eating again, ever. He decided that no matter what they ended up saying when she woke up, it would be ten thousand times better than actually attempting to get out of bed, and he kept thinking that until her phone started ringing that irritating Black Eyed Peas song that she'd downloaded. He remembered: it was Thursday, they had to work.

Carefully, he pulled his arm out from around her, she'd lost another few pounds and it should be more weird than it was that he knew her weight fluctuations like some men knew batting averages. She couldn't have been eating, and he knew that if what he saw last night was true, that if she was drinking her way into becoming an early WASP, it would explain the makeup lady's warnings, wardrobe's new shipments.

He pulled on his shirt, trying to be quiet, but her cell phone was still going off, so she was either passed out or pretending to be. After living with her for a while, he figured it was probably the former, though. Once, in California, she slept through a fire drill in their hotel. The firemen had had to wake her.

Annie and Axel were asleep in the living room, lazing in a patch of sunlight. He scratched Annie's ears on his way out, grabbing a coke out of the fridge on his way to the garage. In the doorway, as he was opening it, he heard a, "Hey!" and pulled the door back before he hit Bethany.

She stopped just inside when she saw him and he looked hopefully over her shoulder at his car in the driveway. "Can we just pretend you didn't see me?" he asked.

"You can't keep doing this," she said, but she walked all the way into the kitchen and he headed towards his car.

At his car door, there was a moment of panic when he couldn't find his keys, and he couldn't go back in because Soph would probably be up after fifteen minutes of her alarm going off.

"Fuck," he said, pressing his forehead against his window.

Bethany's hand was soft and small on his elbow, and she was holding out his keys and wallet. "Here," she said, waiting until he took them to drop her hand. "I really don't like you as a person."

Scrubbing a hand over his face, thumb resting hard against his eyeball, he nodded. The pressure didn't help his headache, but it did make him see weird colors and miss whatever was on Beth's face when she scratched the back of his head with her long, acrylic nails before padding back into the house barefoot.

Inside the car, he glanced up and told himself that if he went home, changed his clothes, and still made it to set by call time - so it didn't look like he spent the night with some random girl - he'd let himself have a non-soy latte on set. At the next stoplight, he realized that without breaking speed limits that wasn't going to be possible.

Two blocks later, he pulled into a Starbucks parking lot and didn't even berate himself.

Chad knew he was bad at delayed gratification. Mostly he rewarded himself regardless of whether he actually did whatever he promised to or not.

Soph would say that their whole marriage had been about instant gratification, and that was probably true, too. But, right now, they both had a pretty skewed perspective of what their marriage had been about.

He ended up ordering a mocha instead of a latte, and had them add an extra espresso shot because he knew that as much water as he'd need to drink to get over a night of alcohol and three espresso shots, he couldn't afford to be decaffeinated on set.

At home, he showered fast, pulled on a hoodie and loose jeans, and slipped his feet into flip-flops on his way out the door. It really didn't matter what he wore, wardrobe would have him in Lucas' clothes before he could say, "No more art-kid sweaters."

He was only forty five minutes late, and he hit makeup a few minutes after Sophia was done, obeying the careful dance coordinated by the PAs, directors, and assistants. The whole breaking up thing would actually be a lot easier if the writers got with the program and realized that they weren't going to get their grand romance on film anymore.

Celluloid lied about a lot of stuff and if he kissed her it would look right and if they argued it would sound right, but if he had to say, "I love you" or something, he'd just walk off. Fuck the network, fuck the writers, fuck Soph drunk dialing him.

If he and Sophia both obeyed the careful requests of everyone on set, they never even had to sit in the same place except when they were on camera. It was a pretty sweet deal, he had to admit. Muriel, the only makeup artist who never said, "Oh, your _skin_ ," dabbed concealer under his eyes and looked at the shooting schedule.

"You're lucky you don't have any close-ups today," she said.

He nodded, and drank more of the water that the production assistant had handed him. She worked him over with the usual: moisturizer, foundation, blush, power, a light dab of lipstick as a finishing touch, then she sent him out quickly.

There was half an hour until his first scene, and he couldn't find his cell phone, so he wandered over to the food table, out of curiosity more than hunger. Brit was already there, doing the weird thing he'd noticed actresses did - the picking up food and putting it down, eventually deciding on a non-threatening piece of fruit.

Glancing up at him, she decided on a small plastic container of honeydew melon, grabbing a fork from the basket. She halfheartedly waved the fork in greeting. She was just getting off the heroin chic look, and he had heard from wardrobe that she was gaining back the pounds she had when they hired her before the cocaine habit got out of control.

He'd respect her a little more if he didn't know it was nearly getting fired that got her to finally clean up her act. Without the network's one on one coach, he was pretty sure she probably wouldn't have stopped anyway. The caffeine was making him even more uncharitable, but he didn't care. He wanted a one on one coach to tell him how he was fucked up.

He wanted a one on one coach so he could punch him in the face if he mentioned Sophia. "Yeah, you fucked that one up _good_ ," his imaginary coach said.

Chad punched him in the imaginary face and grinned at Brit. "You doing anything during the break?" he asked.

She swallowed the melon, and smiled, friendly. "Going to Mexico. You?"

"Canada," he said. He picked up a packet of saltines, an orange. Both made him nauseous.

"Why Canada?" Brit asked, and her eyes flicked over his shoulder, back to him, and then over his shoulder. She nibbled on the melon.

"That's where his _boyfriend_ lives," Sophia said, a little horse. A PA handed her another bottle of water, she didn't say thank you.

The problem with being on set, Chad thought was that he couldn't point out that he wasn't the only one who was glad to be getting out of the fuck-up that some people called his marriage. Walk away, he told himself. The saltines in his hand bit sharply into his palm before they cracked.

"See you later, Brit. Have fun in Mexico," he didn't say goodbye to Sophia. Fine.

"Oh, tell Jared, 'hello, thanks for the divorce' from me," Sophia said.

Turning, Chad said, "Fuck you, Sophia. You really want to play that game?"

As usual, the PAs showed up before they could say anything the network didn't want on record. An invisible divorce was a good divorce and all that.

*****

The day was hell, the plane ride was hell, even his fucking luggage was crap and when Jared picked him up from the airport, wearing loose jeans and a NY Rangers sweatshirt, Chad couldn't help snapping, "Thanks, moron."

Jared's eyebrows shot up, and he said, "What crawled up your ass and started doing the tango?"

The mood broke, like cloud cover. It was the voice and the tone and the fact that Chad knew that wasn't a Jared-originated phrase. Their chest hug lasted a second too long, "It's good to see you," Chad said.

"I told you not to fly American Airlines," Jared said. In fact, Jared had been telling him not to fly American since he ordered the tickets.

"Shut up," Chad said. He hoisted his duffel bag. "Where's the other brother Winchester?"

"I have no idea," Jared said. "We aren't connected at the hip."

Following Jared out the automatic doors, Chad said, "No, just at the uterus."

Jared's whole forehead wrinkled in confusion and then he made a face when it hit. "Dude, your 'you're a woman' jokes need work."

"Yeah," Chad shrugged, he wasn't sure where that one had come from either.

Last time he was here, Jared was still driving the crap Honda Civic that barely had enough room for Jared's legs. This time, it was a high truck, something that Jared had probably wanted since he was a kid.

"Dude, your Texas is showing," Chad said, trying to shove his duffel bag into the cramped room behind the seats.

"Eh, fuck you," Jared said, stroking his steering wheel in what Chad thought was an entirely inappropriate manner. "Just put it in the back."

"The way you drive? I'd rather not have my underwear all over some Canadian freeway, giving some old lady a heart attack." Chad succeeded, gave a brief "woot" of success and climbed into the shotgun seat.

"Whatever. If your underwear is gonna be giving old ladies heart attacks, I don't know if I want it in my truck at _all_." Jared started the car, pulled out with a quick glance over his shoulder. "What is it, Murray? The thongs? The glitter? The Barbie logo?"

"Dude, you wish it was thongs, you so do, bitch." Chad had found Jared's CD collection and flipped randomly through it, pulled out Third Eye Blind's _Blue_ and ejected the soft rock crap that was playing. He managed not to toss it in the back, even though he wanted to, because he knew that Jared would diva-out and probably crash his penis extension.

Turning up the volume, he put in the CD.

The car jerked at the first chord. "Thanks for the warning," Jared said, reaching over to turn down the volume.

"Eh, welcome," the long plane ride, the warm car, the rumble of the engine, even the familiar scent of Jared's cologne, all made Chad tired, he found himself drifting off against the window, answering Jared's questions in mumbles and half statements.

He'd been to Jared's place before, and during _House of Wax_ , they'd lived together. The mess was expected, he kind of felt like when he visited home, when Dad didn't try to clean up. It was strange, but familiar.

Heading for the kitchen, Jared said, "I changed the sheets in the guest room."

Chad opened the door, realized that 'changed the sheets' really just meant that Jared had washed them and left them bunched on top of the bed. "Thanks, J," he yelled, and yelling sarcasm didn't have the same effect.

"You're welcome," Jared yelled back, and yeah, sarcasm lost a lot with the increase in volume.

Chad dropped his bag on top of the dresser, started making the bed.

"Hey," Jared said, from the doorway. He had two opened beers in his hands. "Did you want to go out tonight? Jen just called and said that he was going to go some new club or something."

"Whatever." Chad knelt lightly to set one of the far corners. "I'm kind of tired, but I could do something."

Jared sat down on the bottom sheet. Irritated, Chad flapped the top sheet over him, let it fall down. Making a startled squawking noise, Jared twisted under it. "Shit," he said. "Spilled the beer."

"Fuck it. I'm tired. I'm taking your bed." Chad grabbed his duffel bag and walked to Jared's room, toeing off his shoes and climbing between the sheets fully clothed. A second later, a huge weight dropped onto his shoulder and Jared started poke him with his fucking sharp fingers.

"Get out, get out, get out," Jared chanted.

"No, you fucker," Chad said, twisting so he could dig his fingers up under Jared's ribs, which, even through the sheet and Jared's shirt would hurt like a mofo. "I don't want to sleep in a fucking puddle of beer."

Jared twisted again, elbowing Chad sharply and pinning one of his wrists against his chest. They were half wrestling, and it was hard with the sheets trapping him, but he managed to head-butt Jared so that Jared whimpered and pulled back, "Ouch, motherfucker."

"Ha," Chad said. "I'm sleeping here, because I was on the plane for hours and because you're the host."

"Hey," Jared said, still laying across Chad's pelvis, crushing out his breath every time he shifted. "I'm letting you _stay_ here, you ingrate."

"Whatever," Chad said, and tilted his head on the pillow, pretending to sleep. Jared was a warm weight and when he moved off with an irritated sigh, Chad held back the successful grin, because hello, _pretend sleeping_.

Only, when he woke up a few hours later, dry mouthed and groggy, he groaned and tugged off his too-hot shirt, the painful jeans, pulled sleep pants and a toothbrush out of his bag. After brushing his teeth using Jared's toothpaste, he headed towards the living room.

"Hey," he croaked, cleared his throat, said, "Hey" again. Jared was stretched nearly full length on the couch, face pressed into his hand. He looked like a little kid, caught staying up too late. The tv showed Conan and that had to be satellite, then.

Removing the remote gently from Jared's hand, Chad turned off the tv, spread a blanket over him. Asleep, Jared looked younger, hair mussed and mouth open.

Chad went back to bed.

*****

"No," Jared was saying. "That's not how it happened at _all_."

He was blushing, almost invisible through the dark tan that makeup had given him.

"And so," Jensen continued, loudly over Jared's protests. He winked at Chad. "Then Mike goes, 'hey, hands off my bitch'. And Jared's too startled to realize that Mike was talking about him and not the fan attacking him. You should have seen his face when Mike dragged him away and kissed him on the lips."

Chad was wheezing with laughter and even the sharp kick of don't-encourage-him from Jared didn't make him stop. "Were there cameras?" he said, finally.

"No, and a good thing, too, because the fan started screaming hysterically like Mike had just killed a puppy in public." Jensen cracked up, slapping his knee.

Rolling his eyes, Jared said again, "That wasn't how it was at all."

"Oh, right, baby," Chad said. "You were just playing at being gay. It was just a phase." He couldn't stop laughing, even when Jared slapped him on the back hard, to 'keep him from choking.'

"That's it, we're going," Jared said, standing.

Not surprisingly, he was still sober, water and soda all night, even when Jensen had challenged him to a drinking contest. "Designated driver, you fucker," Jared had said.

There were weird pieces of Jared's past that Chad remembered with startling clarity: his cousin had been hit by a drunk driver, Jared had been one of the kids who volunteered to drive drunk people home, Jared sighing when he realized that it was either be the DD or leave his penis extension in a parking lot overnight.

"Awww, J, we're just joking," Jensen said, smiling winningly, or what would have been winningly when he was sober and not sloppy drunk.

"You can fit in back," Jared said, walking away to pay their bill.

"Bitch," Jensen said, fondly. Then, he looked at Chad, and his gaze was, if not sober, a lot more serious. "Look. You're treating him right?"

Blinking, Chad tried to translate that. "You mean, are we fucking?"

Jensen slapped him on the shoulder. Hard. And glanced around like it was a bad spy movie. "No, I mean, you treat him right or I will fuck you up, asshole. He may think you're the best thing since sliced bread, but I heard about Sophia."

"Everybody _heard about Sophia_ ," Chad said. But it was true, their divorce was loud and screaming and had _the Star_ pulling at anyone who'd ever met the two of them.

"Whatever," Jensen said.

"Look, we're not together." At one time, this used to be a valid point.

That made Jensen look at him funny and Chad blushed a lot because it's not true, he's never slept with Jared, but there was the slow working towards it, the way that he knew how Jared liked his coffee, the way that Jared called him every day to get advice about the really stupid stuff.

He probably knew more about the minutiae of Jared's life than he did about Sophia's, and it wasn't at all about what brand of conditioner that she used, it was about the way that Jared could call and say, "blue or yellow?" and Chad knew which ties he was talking about.

Cramped into the back of Jared's truck, Jensen was even more annoying; he kept talking about that hot chick at the bar with the legs. Chad wanted to backhand him but ended up shoving instead, a lazy hand to Jensen's face that resulted in Jensen trying to strangle him, and Jared pulling the car roughly into a supermarket parking lot and turning around to yell at them.

Eventually, they dropped Jensen off and the doorman of his building looked a little pissy that they were dumping a drunk Jensen on him, but really, the guy got paid enough to do this shit. At least Chad thought he did. Chad had never actually looked at a doorman's paycheck, but it was Canada and he imagined that meant it must be easier than in New York.

When they got back to Jared's place, Chad collapsed onto the couch and didn't move until Jared started blasting some sort of hick music from the speakers.

Covering his ears with the throw pillow, he yelled, "What has that Texas asshole been teaching you?"

"Don't mess with Tex _ass_ ," Jared yelled in response and Chad finally got up and found the guest bedroom, pulling off his shoes and socks, stripping with drunken slowness down to his boxer-briefs and then crawling between sheets.

Moments later, he blinked and pulled back the sheets, flipping on the bedside light to show off the huge brown stain of beer on the sheets. "Fucking ass," he said and walked to Jared's room.

"Fucking ass," he said again, and crawled into Jared's bed.

"Wha'?" Jared asked around a mouthful of toothpaste.

Yawning, Chad made a series of vowel sounds, finishing with, "- so unless you _want_ puke all over the guest room, I'm staying here."

The door to the master bath was open and Chad could make out Jared bending to spit, rinsing his mouth out with a handful of water.

"The scent of beer..." Jared striped off his shirt and toed out of his shoes.

"Morning after. Puke, gross, blah, blah, blah," Chad said. He took the harder pillow and the left side.

"So you think it'd be better if you puked on _me_ ," Jared said, uncertain.

Closing his eyes, Chad stole as many of the blankets as he could. "Won't puke on you, bitch. Just go to sleep."

*****

He woke up panicked. Someone had curled around him, and he felt trapped. Sophia had always stayed on her side of the bed, smelling like her body lotion and making soft sighs on every exhalation.

The arm was huge, but the sharp half-snore that Jared made when he was deeply asleep made Chad sigh and close his eyes. He wanted to go back to sleep.

*****

The next time he woke, Jared's chin was on his shoulder and his breath was tickling at Chad's neck, outbreaths and sighs making him turn towards Jared, a little so that it would stop hitting his collarbone.

"Mmmm?" Jared said, reaching towards waking, his eyes fluttered half open and then nearly closed again.

"Nah," Chad said, watching Jared's eyelids close all the way.

Reaching out, he caught on Jared's warm skin and closed his eyes.

*****

Chad was still hydrating, drinking water slowly, eating a plain bagel that Jared had stolen for him from the food cart - no cream cheese because Jared thought his stomach couldn't handle it.

"You must get sick of basketball," Jensen said. He was wearing a pair of sunglasses that matched Chad's and Chad was certain that if he had sunglasses that matched Jensen's, he needed to get new sunglasses.

"Stop making that pissy face," Jensen said, lazily. "Basketball. Focus, Chad."

"Do you get sick of shooting at things?" Chad asked.

Shrugging, Jensen said, "They're all blanks."

"The baskets are all coordinated." Chad chewed and swallowed, half as many chews as his dad used to make him do.

"That isn't an answer, Murray," Jensen said, lazily.

Someone from the makeup trailer had stepped outside for a cigarette and was glaring at Jensen where he was laying back in a lawn chair in the sun.

"Yeah, I get sick of it," Chad said. "Why does makeup look like they want to kick your ass?"

"The freckles," Jensen answered easily. "Sun makes more of them."

Understanding, Chad nodded.

"You're really not sleeping with him?" Jensen asked, sleepy voice and the sunglasses were hiding his eyes.

"No," Chad said. "I'm really not."

"Too bad," Jensen said. "You two would make a good couple."

Jared came over, long puppy strides that had the PA taking two for every one of his steps.

"Jensen, they're looking for you on the sound stage," she said, all in one breath, her headset appearing like ugly orthodontia equipment.

Standing, Jensen dusted off his clothes and slapped Jared on the back before following behind her. Jared stretched and then slid onto Jensen's seat.

"Good take?" Chad asked, looking over.

"Yeah," Jared said. Then, frowning, he asked, "Are you wearing Jensen's sunglasses?"

*****

Jared liked three types of food, and it had taken Chad less than a week to figure this out. He liked: food that was delivered, food that was fried, and food that came off of a barbecue.

"Dude, you can't even fit that in your apartment," Chad said.

The hardware store sales assistant coughed. "It's got a gas line, so the temperature is constant and quick to heat."

Jared stroked the silver top. "And the top for buns?"

"Toasts them like a dream."

Chad rolled his eyes and held up the toilet seats. "Jared. C'mon. Let's go."

"Yeah," Jared said, without moving from his spot in front of the grill.

"It's not funny if Jensen doesn't even get to see it," Chad said, pulling on Jared's elbow, he slung Jared's arm over his shoulders like he was carrying drunk Jared home and pulled them towards the checkout.

"Fits twenty burgers," Jared said, helplessly.

Running two fingers along the waistband of Jared's underwear, he said, "Does it make you hot? We can replace the blowup doll with a grill if you ask really nicely."

"Shut up." But Jared was grinning, and Chad left his fingers curled in the belt loop.

*****

Jensen was still screaming when they got to the set the next morning. Innocent faces apparently didn't work because Jensen growled and tried to shove Chad's head under his arm.

Laughing, Jared said, "Cut it out, shitheads." He'd somehow gotten Mike's sense of humor, though, because he started calling Jensen, "Potty Boy" immediately afterward.

"I'll show you Potty Boy," Jensen said, tackling Jared. "Shut the fuck up, Murray, you're next."

Jared came out of it, hair tussled and clothing covered in dirt, a few small scratches on his knuckles. When they got to Jared's trailer, a PA squeezed in behind them and cleared her throat. "The network would like to remind you that practical jokes," she said it like it was a new venereal disease, "are not allowed on set as they make shows more costly."

Chewing hard on the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing, Chad glanced at Jared, who had pulled most of his lower lip into his mouth.

"Right, of course," Jared said, seriously. "Won't happen again."

She left, and Chad didn't even wait until the door was closed before laughing hysterically. "Oh, man. I want the network on my ass, I'd have punched her."

"You'd punch a _girl_?" Jared asked, and he sounded like Chad had just suggested publicly killing puppies.

Chad had to admit he probably wouldn't.

Jared pulled off his shirt, and it was different then when they were at his condo, because the trailer was cramped, enclosed spaces and Jared was turning his head over his shoulder to check and see about something Jensen must have done to his back.

"Jensen thinks that we're sleeping together," Chad said. The muscles weren't flexing on Jared's chest, but he looked more fit than when they were on Gilmore Girls, he looked like he'd grown into his huge body, here, on set, in his element.

Whipping around, Jared stared at him. "What?"

Chad was sure that Jensen thought that when they were in situations like this, Chad would just lean forward and pull on Jared's belt loops, pull him forward until he could lick at that line in between Jared's abs. He thought that Jared would make that soft breathy sound he made when he was turned on and put both hands on Chad's shoulders to steady himself until he couldn't stand it and then he'd pull back on Chad's head, wrapping his hands around Chad's face and kissing him until they both ran out of air.

Instead, Chad stood and said, "Nothing. He was just being a dick."

"Jensen's like that," Jared said, puzzled.

At the door to the trailer, Chad said, "I'm going out."

He didn't stop until the front gate, calling a cab from the security booth. The cab came and when he got back to Jared's place, he used the spare key under the potted plant, and let himself back in.

After a few days, Chad's stuff had spread, like algae or fungus or something, it was all over Jared's apartment. His sweatshirt on the kitchen table, his iPod plugged into the speaker system. Chad went through methodically and repacked, until he was back to the duffel and his cell phone.

"Ok," he said, and left the key where he found it. The airline wanted to charge him extra money for changing his flight on such short notice, but he coughed it up and suddenly he had a first class ticket to LA.

Jensen caught up with him when he was hailing a cab. He jogged up and said, "Murray."

"What?" Chad thought about ignoring him, that kid's game of _I can't see you_.

"Jared said you weren't leaving until Thursday." Jensen was playing with his keys, spinning them around his finger and it was irritating Chad, the sound of metal slamming together again and again and again.

"Change of plans, my agent called." This was an excuse that had been used more times than he could count.

Without saying anything Jensen managed to convey his disbelief and his disapproval.

"What?" Chad spat.

"You remember the whole 'don't hurt J,' thing?" Jensen looked so earnest when he said it that Chad wanted to punch him. "Running out in the middle of the night counts."

"You gonna punch me in the face, Ackles?" Chad jerked his chin.

The taxi driver yelled something in French and Chad shouted, "Just a second." The taxi driver gave him the finger and drove down the block to the next hotel.

When he turned back to Jensen, the guy was in his face and Chad shoved at him without thinking. "Hey, man."

Jensen glared, and said, "This is how you deal with shit? You just run away to LA?"

"Pretty much," Chad said. Then blinked because, yeah, that was how he dealt with shit. He readjusted the duffel strap on his shoulder. "I need to get to the airport."

Jensen shook his head, like he was a disappointed mother or some shit and gestured down the block. "I can drive you."

*****

LA was hot, and he spent most of his time at someone else's pool. It might have been Paris's. The network wanted to send him an assistant to walk around with him and help make sure that his "media image" was "appropriate for the WB network."

"That sounds like some sort of life coach," Chad said.

Over the cell line, his agent sighed. "That's because it is. Take them up on it so they'll get off my back."

Chad did. He punched the guy within twenty-four hours.

*****

end


End file.
